The One He Chooses
by valentine
Summary: Finished! (Ens, Charlie)"This bill isn't about the money or a change in title. It's about saving lives. It's about finding cures and treatments for more than 6,000 diseases. And you're treating it like a throw-away because it's an election year!?"
1. Part 1

Spoilers: Nothing real specific but let's say through Night Five just to be safe.  
  
Timeline: Around March in the third season.  
  
Disclaimers: The West Wing characters are so not mine, but you already knew that. The original characters, however, have no one but me to blame.  
  
Thanks: Sandra, Reagan, Abby, Julia and N. all helped me enormously on this story. Truly, I cannot even begin to express my appreciation in anything close to a fitting way. Simply put, without them there would be no story.  
  
Notes: This story deals with illness and also a piece of fictional legislation that is based heavily on a bill currently in the Senate. I used a great many references while researching this story. These links and further notes can be found here:  
  
http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/eloquence/fiction/tohcan.html  
  
I would suggest not looking at them until after. It might spoil a thing or two.  
  
  
  
The One He Chooses  
  
Excerpt from the National Organization for Rare Disorders (NORD) Testimony before the Senate Health, Education, Labor and Pensions Committee:  
  
In 1983, to address a longstanding, unmet need to develop new treatments and cures for rare diseases and disorders, Congress enacted the Orphan Drug Act. Congress sought through the Act to encourage the development of new ''orphan'' treatments and cures for the millions of Americans with rare diseases. As defined by the law, an "orphan disease" is one that affects fewer than 200,000 people in the United States. These include such obscure disorders as Lesch-Nyhan Syndrome, Tay-Sachs Disease and Wilson's Disease, as well as more common disorders including Hemophilia, Sickle Cell Disease and Cystic Fibrosis. Historically, such relatively small patient populations were considered too small to justify financial investment by the private sector pharmaceutical research enterprise. Rare disorders represent very small markets and potential treatments were deemed "drugs of limited commercial value." Even with the economic incentives provided under the Orphan Drug Act, it remains very difficult to entice private companies to spend money on research for most rare diseases.  
  
Even in the face of this continued reluctance, the Orphan Drug Act has proven extremely effective. In the ten years prior to the Act, 38 "orphan drugs" were developed compared to the 220 such drugs developed in the nearly 20 years since. Despite this success, patients with rare diseases or disorders still continue to face challenges in receiving appropriate and adequate treatment, and many of these afflictions have no approved treatments at all. Unfortunately, significant opportunities for rare disease research remain unmet because companies will not or cannot commercialize them. The Rare Diseases Act of 2002 (H.R. 1379) is intended to build on the successes of, and improve upon, current law in generating urgently needed treatments and cures for rare diseases and disorders. This Act seeks to further stimulate the research and development of orphan drugs, by giving statutory authorization to the Office of Rare Diseases (ORD) at the National Institute of Health (NIH), and authorizing new funds for the Orphan Products Research Grant program.  
  
  
  
--Sunday Night--  
  
Charlie heard the TV click off in the family room and looked over at the clock -- ten after eleven. It was getting close to Deena's unofficial bedtime. "Unofficial" because he didn't like to be terribly strict with his sister. It was a difficult line to walk sometimes, between brother and de-facto parent. But he sensed that Deena knew that and gave him much more latitude than she ever had their mother. Still, it was always good when they could just avoid the whole parenting interaction altogether.  
  
Sometimes when Charlie looked at his sixteen-year-old sister, he could see what his mother must have looked like in her high school days. The strong hands, the way she always threw her shoulders back and held her head up, the small dimples that appeared when she laughed. Sometimes it broke his heart just to look at her.  
  
Hearing her door close he turned back to reading the reams of Senate testimony he had to get through before his next class. The American Political Systems professor had asked them each to choose a current bill and follow its progress through congress.  
  
The reading, unfortunately, was not doing a very good job of keeping him awake. Feeling his eyelids getting heavier with each passing minute he finally gave up, reaching over to set his alarm before turning out the lamp. He allowed the soft patter of rain outside his window to lull him to sleep.  
  
Within minutes, it seemed, he was startled awake by a presence in his room.  
  
"Charlie?" He could barely hear the faint voice.  
  
"What's do you need Dee?"  
  
"My knees hurt."  
  
Charlie sat up; all vestiges of sleep gone immediately.  
  
"Like last time?"  
  
"Worse."  
  
"Okay," he rubbed his eyes, trying to abate the frustration and concern growing in him. "I told you not to play so hard Dee. You can't overdo it like that."  
  
"Do you think we could skip the lecture this time Charlie? It's gotten kind of old."  
  
"Yeah, okay." His frustration wasn't so much directed at her, it wasn't something she could control anyway. "Well, what do you think?"  
  
"I think I need to go to the clinic."  
  
Charlie cringed at the fear in her voice. It amazed him sometimes that this never seemed to get any easier. He thought that if life had been fair, it should. Then again, if life was fair, Deena wouldn't be sick and his mother wouldn't be dead.  
  
"Okay, grab your bag, let me call Dr. Richards."  
  
As Deena left the room, Charlie looked out the window, trying to decide what he would tell his boss in the morning.  
  
  
  
--Monday Morning--  
  
By the time Sam managed to hobble into the White House, the sun had been up for a good hour, meaning he was late for his morning appointment. He considered himself fairly fit for a man his age; and, more notably, for a man in his line of work. Maybe he couldn't run a six-minute mile anymore, but he could more than hold his own in the athletic arena. At least most of the time he could. There were just some things that he shouldn't do anymore. Playing a pickup basketball game with the President's twenty something body man and his younger sister was high on that list at the moment. Not only were his quads aching but it had also been raining steadily since late the previous night. Any other day he'd have been a little more wary of puddles on the marble floor. Any other day, he was sure, he would have avoided the whole incident. But today it was raining and he was late, and before he could really understand what had happened, he found himself flat on his back in the middle of the White House lobby.  
  
"Ow," he gave silent thanks that the lobby was empty except for the security guard, who could be heard trying, unsuccessfully, to stifle his laughter.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
Sam suddenly found himself looking up into the hair-obscured face of what appeared to be, at least from his current vantage point, a rather tall brunette woman.  
  
"I'm sorry…" he mumbled pushing himself into a sitting position. Cursing the offending puddle that had, by now, soaked through his jacket and shirt, he looked harder at the woman before him. "Do I know you?"  
  
Laughing, the woman set her briefcase next to him on the floor. She squatted down, pushing the hair behind her ears. Looking him directly in the face, she laughed again, high and light and echoing like a bell in the high ceilings.  
  
"You look like someone pulled the rug out from under you there, Sam. Say something."  
  
"Linda," Sam exclaimed, finding his voice again.  
  
"Sam."  
  
"Linda!"  
  
"Yes, and you're Sam. And you're wet, not to mention on the floor."  
  
"Oh, god, I'm sorry…I…"  
  
"Here." Linda rose to her feet again and offered her hand.  
  
"Thanks. I'm sorry, I'm not normally this clumsy." He grimaced slightly as he struggled to his feet.  
  
"You've always been this clumsy."  
  
"I have not." Sam turned to look at her again, glad his initial impression of her stature hadn't been accurate. Drawn up to his full height, he was a good half-inch taller than her, "I am not."  
  
"Oh come on, I specifically remember a time involving a boat-"  
  
"It was slick and that wave caught me off guard!"  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"It's true."  
  
"All right," she raised her hands in mock surrender before bending to retrieve her briefcase. "So what's your excuse today. Did that tile there sneak up on you?"  
  
"Funny! No, I was just in a hurry, I'm supposed to be meeting with this guy from the National Organization for Rare Disorders." He gestured for her to follow him through the doors to the bullpen.  
  
"I know."  
  
"I have this…wait, how did you know?"  
  
"I'm your guy."  
  
"You're my guy?"  
  
"Are you sure you didn't smack your head? You're usually much quicker on the uptake."  
  
"No…yes…wait. I'm meeting with you?" Sam guided her into his office and set about removing his wet jacket. He vaguely remembered hearing that Linda had become a lobbyist for NORD a few years ago, but was sure he hadn't seen her name on his calendar.  
  
"Yep."  
  
"How come your name isn't on my schedule?"  
  
"It is, see," she leaned over to point to the appropriate place on his calendar. "L. Wiley, National Organization for Rare Disorders."  
  
"But your last name is Ryan," Sam stated, still confused.  
  
"It was Ryan, I went back to my maiden name."  
  
"When?"  
  
"About two years ago," she replied softly, carefully not looking down at her wedding band.  
  
"Oh." Sam was silent, unable to look Linda in the eye. He remembered hearing about Collin's death, but couldn't remember if he'd sent flowers or even a card. He'd never really even seen the two of them since leaving Dewey Ballantine. Linda and Collin were a few years older than he and Lisa and didn't really frequent the same social circles. He suddenly wished that he'd made a greater effort to keep in touch. "Listen Linda, I'm sorry, I mean I should have come…"  
  
"It's okay."  
  
"No, I… really…he was a good man. You two were good."  
  
"Thanks," she whispered. Staring down, she absently tuggied at the hem of her jacket.  
  
When she looked up again, Sam was struck by how she looked almost exactly the way she had in New York. Her hair was a little shorter and her eyes more haunted, but it was still the Linda Sam knew all those years ago. He blushed suddenly, realizing that she'd caught him staring. She smiled broadly at him, releasing the tension in the room.  
  
"So how's Lisa?"  
  
"Uh, she's good," Sam laughed, not quite sure if she was serious. "You did know we broke up…like three years ago?"  
  
"Oh God, you know, I did know that. I'm sorry…just force of habit you know. You guys were always just Sam and Lisa," she laughed nervously, her face flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry."  
  
"It's no big deal," he smiled, watching as she distractedly tucked stray hairs behind her ear.  
  
"So why don't we just both admit we suck at this keeping in touch thing and get on with it. No more apologies," she offered.  
  
"Sounds good."  
  
"Good."  
  
Sam smiled. "So what can I do for you today Linda?"  
  
"Well, since you asked, I'd like 50 million dollars."  
  
"Way to jump right in there."  
  
"I'd thought I'd just, you know, get right to the point, avoid all the extraneous material, if you will."  
  
"As much as I appreciate that…"  
  
"There is a bill in the Senate right now, The Rare Diseases Act."  
  
"Increased funding for the Orphan Products Research Grant Program?" Sam asked, trying to recall as much as he could about the act. He'd read over the bill when it was first introduced into the House, several weeks ago. The research grants were to go to small clinical trials that focused exclusively on drugs that would only benefit a small population of patients, earning them classification as orphan drugs.  
  
"Yeah, 25 million for that and we're also asking that the National Institute of Health Office for Rare Diseases be made permanent with an increased appropriation."  
  
"Doesn't Rare Disease already have an office within the NIH?"  
  
"Yes and no. In 1993 the NIH voluntarily established the Office for Rare Diseases but because it's not been written into law the office has no official authority."  
  
"And probably no legislative mandate or congressional appropriation," Sam added, making the connection.  
  
Linda nodded. "That's what the other 25 million is for."  
  
"I thought this was sewn up."  
  
"Funny enough so did we," Linda shrugged.  
  
"And you're here now because?"  
  
"NORD would like the White House to back the legislation."  
  
Sam leaned forward on his desk, removing his glasses. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he considered her request.  
  
"Linda, I'm not sure this is something we're going to want to get stuck in. You had the votes, I'm sure you can find them again without our help."  
  
"It's not that we don't have the votes Sam. It passed the House in a landslide and if it came to the floor today it would pass the Senate by almost the same margin. The problem is that Senator Terry's got it in committee and it doesn't look like he's going to let it through anytime soon."  
  
Sam cringed at the mention of Mark Terry's committee. Health, Education, Labor and Pensions would also be the committee in charge of reviewing the Patient Bill of Rights when it came to the Senate. Touted as a bipartisan effort the passage of the bill could prove a huge boost for the President going into November. As Chairman of the committee, they needed Terry on their side to make that happen. Sam wasn't sure how much political capital they could afford to spend on lesser bills right now.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm not sure we can help you here."  
  
"Sam, I'm not asking for an aggressive campaign from you guys, really. All I'm asking is a well placed phone call or two."  
  
"With the legislation we've got coming to the Senate, with reelection…it's just bad timing."  
  
"I know…I know this is a bad time and we're not indifferent to that, but I wouldn't be here is this wasn't important."  
  
Sam leaned back in his chair, studying her.  
  
"Hey, all I'm asking is that you look into it." Linda reached into her briefcase and retrieved several thick folders, laying them on the desk between them. "Here are some things we've put together."  
  
"I can't promise anything."  
  
"Just consider it. That's all I'm asking."  
  
Sam reached forward to scoop up the files, looking up just in time to catch her knowing smile.  
  
"No promises," he warned.  
  
"Okay," she replied, still smiling.  
  
"I'm serious Linda."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Okay just so long as we're clear on that."  
  
"Great." Linda rose from across the desk and grabbed her coat. As she turned to the door Sam made his way to her.  
  
"So I'll let you know as soon as I get a chance."  
  
"Thank you Sam." She leaned in to place a peck on his cheek before heading out of the office.  
  
Sam smiled as he watched her turn towards the lobby, then he headed the opposite direction across the bullpen. He tried again to remember more details about the RDA. From what he remembered it seemed like a good bill. Nothing monumental, but nothing out of line either. He couldn't imagine why Mark Terry's committee was taking so long on this. He only knew that NORD and Linda were anxious to get it moving.  
  
"Sam!"  
  
He was still thinking about Linda when he heard his name. Turning he found himself gazing up at CJ.  
  
"Hey CJ."  
  
"Hey yourself."  
  
They passed through the communication's bullpen, heading for Leo's office.  
  
"So I just had this meeting with a woman from NORD."  
  
"National Organization for Rare Disorders?" CJ asked.  
  
"That's the one. Anyway, they want us to get involved in H.R. 1379."  
  
"The RDA? I thought that was a done deal."  
  
"Apparently not."  
  
"Well we shouldn't."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Why? Because this isn't the time Sam. We don't want him to be perceived as too focused on medical issues right now. Not unless it's ramping up to the Patient's Bill of Rights."  
  
"I told her I'd make a call."  
  
"Well I'm glad my advice had such an impact."  
  
"It's just…she's a friend."  
  
They rounded the corner into Margaret's office, where Toby and Josh were waiting.  
  
"Oh by the way," CJ continued, a smile crossing her face, "I heard you got spanked last night."  
  
"Okay, seriously, what is it with you and spanking?" Sam asked, his voice indignant as possible. "Anyway, I wouldn't call it that."  
  
"Oh? What would you call it? Trounced? Whupped? Beaten to a bloody pulp and made to cry for your mommy?"  
  
In the background he could hear the barely contained snickers coming from Josh. When he turned to fix the other man with a scowl, he swore he could see Toby's mouth crinkling in a suppressed laugh.  
  
Turning back to CJ, he raised his hands in concession. He hated to admit to anyone that he'd lost, but he had and now it was just as well to face up to it.  
  
"I got beat, okay? I lost to the better player. There's no shame in that."  
  
"No, you're right Sam, there's no shame in losing to a girl and it takes a big man to admit that." Toby was smiling, almost openly, at his deputy's misfortune.  
  
"Hey!" CJ said, fixing Toby with a glare. "I bet she could take you too, my friend. That girl's got game."  
  
"You know, someone your age really shouldn't be using phrases like that?"  
  
"My age?"  
  
"Or, you know, people of your experience and distinction," Toby back- peddled quickly.  
  
"Better," she said, smiling slyly.  
  
"But back to Sam now," Josh offered.  
  
"Can I just say in my own defense that Deena really is very good, and basketball really isn't my game?" Sam pleaded.  
  
"What's your game? Croquet? Shuffleboard?" CJ smirked.  
  
"No, it's true," Josh spoke up, coming to his friend's defense. "He really does suck."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"No problem," Josh shrugged.  
  
"Morning," Leo greeted them as he swept past into his office. Following him Josh, Sam, Toby and CJ all took up positions surrounding the Chief of Staff's desk and waited for him to begin the meeting.  
  
"So," Leo looked up from the briefing book he'd been carrying, "Josh, you're meeting with the representatives from Nevada?"  
  
"Yeah, the Secretary of Energy is days away from recommending the Yucca Mountain site for construction as a high level nuclear waste repository. These guys just want to sound off once more for good measure."  
  
"We're about to start dumping high level nuclear waste in their mountains," Toby pointed out. "I really can't imagine why they'd have concerns."  
  
"It's not like the guys from Energy went around and had the states draw straws," Josh argued. "We spent 20 years and 40 billion dollars on this."  
  
  
  
"And I'm sure that will come as great comfort when the trucks full of plutonium start rolling through their cities."  
  
"You know-" Josh started before he was cut off by Leo.  
  
"Toby's right. They have legitimate concerns and you're going to listen to them. Besides," Leo grinned at his Deputy's obvious discomfort, "Nevada's important."  
  
"Nevada is so *not* important."  
  
"I'm saying they have five electoral votes, so be cordial."  
  
Josh scowled but nodded his agreement.  
  
"Good. Toby how's the speech for the NIH dinner?"  
  
"It's coming along."  
  
"It's not done?"  
  
"The conference isn't until Friday, it'll get done."  
  
"Okay. Anything else?" Leo asked, clearly hoping that there wasn't.  
  
"I took a meeting this morning," Sam announced. "NORD would like us to light a fire under Terry."  
  
"What's he doing now?" Leo sighed.  
  
"He's refusing to let the RDA move to a vote."  
  
"That's not our problem, besides he's probably just being difficult. I don't want us involved with this."  
  
"I know but maybe we could…"  
  
"We can't afford to piss Terry off," Leo said, his voice stern.  
  
"I know, but I'm just talking about a phone call."  
  
Leo looked hard at Sam, judging how deeply he was involved with this already. The young man seemed fairly excited, though he tried to hide it. Leo couldn't exactly remember when Sam had seemed that eager to go after a piece of legislation. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt just to have him make a call or two.  
  
"Fine. Start with the others on the committee, avoid Terry if you can."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Anything…"  
  
They all turned when they heard the door to the Oval Office open. None of them were expecting to see the President standing in the doorway so it didn't immediately register that he was motioning them into the office.  
  
After a moment of silence, the President sighed impatiently. "Well come on, I don't have all day."  
  
"Good morning Mr. President." Leo was the first to recover, stepping quickly to follow the leader of the free world into his office. "So Charlie's got you opening your own doors now. 'Bout time."  
  
"No, as a matter of fact, his sister's sick, and he wanted to stay with her this morning." Jed settled himself behind his desk, watching his staff file in. "And I'm perfectly capable of handling the doors myself, thank you very much."  
  
"Yes, Sir," Leo smirked at his friend, enjoying the lightness that infused the President's mood this morning; a lightness that was all too fleeting these days.  
  
"Deena's sick?" Josh asked. "Because she seemed fine enough last night after tossing Sam around the court."  
  
Sam reached out and swatted Josh's shoulder while he and the others moved in to form a semi-circle around the President's desk. The last thing he wanted was another basketball lecture from the President.  
  
But the President was clearly distracted, not even gracing Sam with a glance as he answered. "Yeah, Charlie said she was just under the weather. So, what do we have going on today?"  
  
  
  
"Toby and Sam have almost wrapped up the NIH speech. We have CJ wrestling with the press. And Josh, trying not to piss off Nevada."  
  
"So a pretty typical day."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"Okay then."  
  
"Thank you Mr. President," they all chorused, turning to leave.  
  
"Oh, by the way, Sam?"  
  
Sam turned and, seeing the grin on Jed Bartlet's face, braced himself. Getting mocked by CJ was one thing, but the Commander In Chief took it to a whole new level.  
  
"Do you know why you lost?"  
  
"Oh, no sir, but if you could enlighten me…"  
  
"See, it's that kind of attitude that will leave you a mediocre player Sam. Here I am about to share my vast knowledge with you and you go and be a smart mouth."  
  
"I'm sorry sir. Tell me, why did I lose?"  
  
"You underestimated your opponent. *Girls' Varsity* he said with disdain," Jed mocked. "Let me tell you something, I raised three girls, I even married one, and if there's one thing women know how to do, it's compete. And here's a secret: they hate it when men say as way of explanation 'well it's just girls' this or girls' that'. Am I right on this one CJ?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Besides I think they like to refer to it as Women's Varsity now."  
  
"I…yes, sir…I didn't really mean."  
  
"Good. Now just stick to the fundamentals next time and she'll only skunk you once."  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
Josh reached out and grabbed Sam's coat sleeve as they left the Oval Office. Steering them toward Sam's office, he couldn't help but snicker.  
  
"Wow, that was fairly painful," Sam cringed.  
  
"He had a point you know."  
  
"Hey, as I remember you were there last night and got pretty well beat yourself."  
  
"Yeah, but I never doubted she could kick our collective asses. Anyway, I'm not the one who made that asinine comment."  
  
"This time."  
  
"I know, it's a rare day. I'm going to go revel in it for a couple minutes. You want to get some coffee and join me?" Josh motioned in the direction of the mess.  
  
"No, I think I'll go back to my office and bury my head in the sand."  
  
"Ahkay."  
  
Sam wearily returned to his office only to find, on his desk, a nerf ball and matching basketball hoop. Before he could wonder which of his colleagues had provided the gift he looked back up, out into the bullpen and found himself staring at Ginger, Bonnie, Donna and CJ. All four had Cheshire cat grins and nerf balls. Realizing too late their intent, he flailed his arms out desperately tying, unsuccessfully, to protect his head from the orange balls.  
  
-----  
  
tbc 


	2. Part 2

Charlie hung up the cell phone and, taking a deep breath, went back into the clinic. It was the second time Nancy had called in as many hours. The President really needed to find someone to replace Mrs. Landingham. It had been easy to ignore at first, the extra work and the President's reluctance to find someone new. With the campaign ahead, though, too many things were getting out of hand, too many things being missed. And now, with Deena...  
  
He opened the door to her room and shut it behind him as softly as he could. He knew the pain medications probably had her knocked out still, but he didn't want to risk disturbing her. Last night had been rough. The pain had spread from her joints to her whole body more quickly than he could ever remember. By the time they'd gotten to the clinic, Dr. Richards had to give her almost twice the normal dose of morphine just to ease the pain to bearable. Mostly Charlie was grateful that she'd slept, even if it was fitfully, since then.  
  
He looked at his sister with the sheets tucked up around her chin, covering her totally except for the arm attached to the IV. Quietly he moved one of the chairs next to her bed and sat. He took the hand nearest him, the one without the IV, in his own and slowly caressed the back of it with his thumb. He was so transfixed, watching as the fluids ran into Deena, that he didn't notice the change in breathing. Only when she spoke did Charlie realize that she'd woken up.  
  
"Hey there."  
  
"Hey," he said, quietly. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Like I just survived the worst crisis of my life."  
  
Charlie chuckled softly; his sister never was one to beat around the bush. But he could also hear the resignation there. This was her first crisis in over a year, but even he could see that it had been worse than the several preceding it. Maybe it wasn't enough to be a pattern but it still caused him to worry. Charlie wondered if he should bring up the use of hydroxyurea with Dr. Richards again. When it had first been approved by the FDA, Deena had still been so young that it hadn't even been seriously discussed. Now she was older, though, and still no other drug therapies were available. If nothing else, it was worth talking about, he thought.  
  
"Other than that," she continued, wincing slightly as she shifted in the bed, her voice still slurred from the medication, "I'm ready to party."  
  
"Sorry, Dee. Not tonight, Doctor's orders."  
  
"Okay. Some other night."  
  
"Some other night," he agreed. "Dee, listen. They're going to keep you here overnight."  
  
She nodded, but her eyes clearly conveyed her displeasure at the prospect.  
  
"It's just for tonight. And I need to go into work for couple hours right now, but I'll be back tonight if I can, and definitely in the morning."  
  
"It's okay Charlie. It's not a big deal. It's not like I'm going to do anything but sleep anyway," Deena gestured to her surroundings, emphasizing her point. "Go to work, go home, I'll see you in the morning."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Go!"  
  
"Okay. I'll just stay till you fall asleep, how about that."  
  
"Thank you," she murmured as her eyes drifted shut.  
  
Charlie reached out with the hand not caressing Deena's and softly pushed the hair off her forehead. He thought sometimes about the first time he'd met Jed Bartlet. When the President asked him to help them to fight against the guns that killed his mother he'd felt like he was doing something for her. And sometimes he wondered if he could do the same for Deena. All he had to do was take it to the President and say 'this is my sister, what can we do'. But he also knew he couldn't. Deena didn't want it that way, and he couldn't blame her. She didn't want anyone to know and other than her doctors and Charlie, her basketball coach and her principal, only a handful of people were aware of her condition. Even if he had disagreed with her not wanting others to know, he would have had no idea how to bring it up with the President anyway.  
  
Gently laying her hand down on the bed he drew the white blanket over her arm. He kissed her on the forehead and, with a brief look back, headed for work.  
  
-----  
  
Sam replaced the receiver in its cradle, removing his glasses in frustration. He'd spent a good part of the morning on the phone with various Senators or their staffs. He felt like he'd simply been talking to the same recording over and over all morning, none of the Senators offered any insight as to why the bill was being held up. Just cryptic answers; or, more accurately, non-answers. Propping his feet up on the desk, he wondered why he'd hit such a firewall on this. He leaned back in the chair closing his eyes and didn't hear the footsteps arriving in his office.  
  
"They cloned a cat."  
  
  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
CJ stepped into the room holding a picture out in front of her.  
  
"A calico. Her name is CC."  
  
"Copy Cat?" Sam guessed.  
  
"No, Carbon Copy. She's cute, look." CJ pushed aside a stack of files and perched herself on the corner of his desk.  
  
"Sam!" Toby came around the corner from his office to find his Deputy and Press Secretary ogling a picture of what appeared to be a kitten. "What are you two doing?"  
  
"They cloned a cat," CJ offered, holding out the picture for Toby to see.  
  
"What? Did they run out of other animals?"  
  
"Not a cat person Toby?" Sam asked, grinning.  
  
"It's hard to be a fan of an animal when you get the sense that they'd just as soon eat you as rub against you."  
  
"Bad experience as a child?"  
  
Toby said nothing, but gave them an expression that said not to push it further.  
  
"The company that sponsored the research," CJ looked up and removed her glasses, "I kid you not is called Sperling's Genetic Savings and Clone."  
  
"Well wasn't that clever," Toby deadpanned. "Anyway if you're done now Grizabella, I need Sam."  
  
"Why Toby, I didn't know you saw _Cats_."  
  
"Trust me. It wasn't voluntary."  
  
"Andie dragged you along, huh?"  
  
"You saw _Cats_?" Sam asked, astonished.  
  
"It was awful, there was scratching and growling."  
  
"We know about your marriage Toby, but how was the play?" CJ snickered.  
  
"You," Toby pointed an accusing finger at CJ, "are not as funny as you think."  
  
"Sam seems to think I'm pretty hilarious." CJ gestured to where Sam was trying hard to stifle a laugh.  
  
"Sam also thinks Cheech and Chong are masters of comedy."  
  
"Hey!" Sam objected.  
  
"Well, I'm afraid we'll have to continue this later, I'm late for my briefing." CJ picked up her article, turning to leave.  
  
"Going to regale them with tales of CC the wonder cat are you?"  
  
CJ gave a kind of half shrug as she exited. "Got to love slow news days."  
  
Toby watched her go, his mind reeling from the possible headlines CJ could create with too much free time. "So, the speech?" He asked turning back to Sam.  
  
"The speech…Yeah, no I'm almost done. I just need to polish a little."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Well, maybe a lot of polish. But this thing isn't until Friday."  
  
"Just…just don't spend a lot of time on this drug thing. I need to see it, done, by Wednesday."  
  
"Okay," Sam answered absently, his mind still on his unfruitful phone calls as Toby left. Rising suddenly he followed Toby out the door. "Hey, hang on."  
  
"Yeah," Toby answered over his shoulder, still moving towards the lobby.  
  
"Listen, so I've been calling the committee members."  
  
"Sam."  
  
"I'm not getting caught up. Really. It's just…there's something not right."  
  
They passed through the lobby and down the stairs to the mess.  
  
"Nobody's saying anything but it's obviously Terry who's holding it up. I just can't figure out why he'd have a problem with this," Sam continued, falling into step slightly behind his boss.  
  
"He doesn't."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Mark Terry made his money in pharmaceuticals." Toby gestured to an open table and sat down across from the younger man.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"He still has pretty close ties with some of the CEOs."  
  
"This bill doesn't hurt them. It doesn't even address the companies, if anything it benefits them. We're asking to appropriate money to a program that gives grants for small clinical trials at academic institutions. They do the hard work, and then when a drug shows promise a big company can swoop in and snatch it up, without having to invest in the preliminary research."  
  
"That's all good, but it amounts to pennies in the bank for these guys."  
  
"Toby…"  
  
"I'm saying they don't have a problem with the RDA, they're after something else."  
  
"What?" Sam stopped, the pieces seeming to come together in his mind. It was clear Terry was holding out for something, but what? Sam couldn't think of any other pending legislation dealing with pharmaceuticals. Maybe Terry was after something else completely.  
  
"Talk to Terry," Toby just shrugged, unable to offer any more answers. He walked away with his coffee, leaving Sam sitting by himself in the middle of the mess.  
  
-----  
  
"Mr. President?" Charlie stuck his head into the Oval Office, not immediately seeing Jed standing by the window.  
  
"What is it Charlie?"  
  
"This just came for you by messenger." Charlie crossed the room, laying the large, flat package across the desk.  
  
"Fantastic!" Jed exclaimed, not containing his excitement.  
  
"Do you want me to open it?"  
  
"No, no I'll do it."  
  
"Can I ask what it is?"  
  
"Hmmm…" Jed was so engrossed in the package that he almost didn't hear the question. "Oh, this? Nothing, just a painting I had restored."  
  
Charlie raised his eyebrow at the President. "I don't remember sending out a painting."  
  
"No, I did it." Jed took in Charlie's incredulous look and continued, "I am quite capable of doing things for myself you know."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Get Leo would you?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Then go find Josh. Tell him I'll be ready for him in about fifteen minutes."  
  
"Yes, sir," Charlie answered as he disappeared back out into the outer office.  
  
Jed carefully undid the wrapping, pushing the brown paper off the desk. Resting the bottom edge on the desk he held the top with one hand and reached for his glasses with the other.  
  
"Good evening, Mr. President."  
  
Jed looked up to see Leo standing in the door between offices.  
  
"Leo," Jed whispered, motioning his friend over to the desk. "Look at this."  
  
Leo crossed the office to stand next to the President and gazed at the framed drawing. In the middle of the picture stood an oak tree rendered in black ink. Squinting he could make out enough of the printed words to recognize them as names.  
  
"So, what do you think?" Jed asked.  
  
"It's lovely."  
  
"It should be. That's real vellum, all hand colored!"  
  
"And the frame?" Leo asked, lightly fingering the smooth wood edge.  
  
"Natural Oak."  
  
"Who's it for?"  
  
"It's for Charlie."  
  
"You got him a framed picture of an old tree for his birthday? He should be thrilled."  
  
"No!" Jed scowled at his friend, gesturing again to the frame. "Look closer."  
  
Leo touched his hand to his breast pocket and then motioned to his office. "My glasses," he offered as explanation.  
  
"It's his family tree."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"All the way back five generations," Jed said proudly.  
  
"It's got both his mother's and father's side."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Do you think maybe he might not be comfortable with that?"  
  
"It's not like I invited the man to the party Leo. We can't pick our family but it's important to know who they were."  
  
-----  
  
Sam had been able to schedule a late meeting with Senator Terry. Unfortunately, he had to go up to the Hill. As he stood in the outer office, waiting for Terry's assistant to show him in, he noticed the photograph of Terry and several others standing on the deck of what appeared to be a rather large yacht. Next to Terry, Sam recognized the past CEO of Pfizer and the current CEO of Glaxo-Wellcome. It almost amazed Sam how blatant Terry's association with these men was. Obviously it hadn't hurt him in the election.  
  
"Mr. Seaborn? You can go in now." Terry's assistant motioned Sam into the office, as she offered to take his coat.  
  
Sam thanked her as he entered the office. Behind a rather large oak desk sat Mark Terry. "Sam," he said warmly, standing to extend his hand.  
  
"Senator."  
  
"Can I get you something to drink?" Terry gestured to the small fridge. "I'm afraid I only have water and some sort of juice that my wife insists is good for me."  
  
"No, thank you, Sir. I'm fine."  
  
"Well, then, what can I do for you today?" Terry asked as he motioned for Sam to sit.  
  
"I wanted to talk to you about the RDA."  
  
"What about it?"  
  
"We're concerned that it's being held up in committee so long."  
  
"Well there are certain aspects of the bill that I feel need work before I'm willing to let it move to a vote."  
  
"Such as?" Sam asked.  
  
"The creation of a new department in the NIH for one. Rare diseases already has an office."  
  
"The office is a temporary solution. It was always intended for the department to be written into law."  
  
Terry smiled and shrugged, completely unworried that his reasons were being attacked.  
  
"You don't really have a problem with the bill, do you Sir?"  
  
"I wouldn't go so far as that. I will say that I have other concerns that may be more pressing and are taking my attention away from the RDA."  
  
Sam leaned back in his chair, eyeing the other man, unsure of what he was getting himself into. "Like what?"  
  
  
  
1 --Monday Evening--  
  
"Hey."  
  
Sam looked up to see Josh leaning against his doorframe. Still cradling the phone in one hand, Sam motioned his friend in with the other.  
  
"Linda, hang on. I went to him and this is what it's going to take to get it out of committee in its current state."  
  
Sam sighed heavily, seriously thinking about placing the phone on the desk and leaving for thirty minutes. Maybe by that time Linda would be done with her tirade.  
  
"No, I'm not suggesting…I'm just telling you what Terry's after…No, I haven't had a chance to look it over yet…yeah, I'll call you later."  
  
Sam deliberately placed the phone in its cradle, using all his self-control not to slam it down. Across the desk Josh was looking at him questioningly.  
  
"I'm guessing your meeting with Terry didn't go so well."  
  
"They want to reopen Hatch/Waxman."  
  
"Extended patent lives?"  
  
"The drug companies can petition the FDA for a recoup of the patent life lost during clinical trials and FDA approval for up to five years right now. They want to extend that to seven."  
  
Josh let out a low whistle. Two additional years of patent life could literally add up to millions of dollars for a single drug. It also meant increased co-pays on those drugs and higher out of pocket expense for those that were uninsured.  
  
"How'd the Yucca Mountain meeting go?" Sam asked, changing the subject abruptly. He'd had just about as much of the RDA as he could take for the day. Even talking about a nuclear waste dumpsite was better than thinking about Terry for one more minute.  
  
"The Secretary is going to recommend it and I'm going to tell the President to approve it."  
  
"So you really took their concerns to heart, huh?" Sam grinned at his friend's obvious disgust.  
  
"You know, it's not like we're dumping it in their back yard for Sue and Jimmy to play with. We're building a vast underground repository."  
  
"Yeah but to get it there it has to be driven through Las Vegas."  
  
"So it'll be something new for them to bet on. Will the nuclear waste truck tip over today, when and where…I think the casinos will embrace it," Josh shot back.  
  
"Yeah and if there is a spill they won't need to use all that electricity to light the city since all the citizens will be day glow."  
  
"Exactly, think of the energy we'll save them."  
  
Sam couldn't help but chuckle at Josh. It had been a long time since they'd had a chance to do this. Sit and commiserate over futile days. Unfortunately, it wasn't likely to get better until after the election. But it was nice now, sitting together talking, or even in a comfortable silence, like the one they'd drifted into. Both men were so caught up in replaying the day that they missed the slight knock on the door and were startled by Charlie's quiet voice.  
  
"Josh? The President's ready for you."  
  
Recovering quickly, Sam followed Josh and Charlie out of the office. Sam could see the slump in Charlie's shoulders even from behind. The young man's whole body seemed to sag as if he were trying to shoulder a great weight. Sam marveled again at how hard Charlie worked. Besides his job at the White House, he had classes to attend to and a sister to raise. It was no wonder that they almost never saw him of outside of work any more. In fact, the previous evening had been the first time since they'd all gone to Manchester.  
  
"How's Deena?" Josh asked, unconsciously echoing Sam's silent concern.  
  
"She's fine."  
  
"What is it," Sam asked. "The flu?"  
  
"Yeah." Charlie didn't even glance at the other two men. He wasn't exactly lying; he was just letting them draw their own conclusions.  
  
"You know the most dangerous part of the flu is dehydration," Sam continued. "It's important to have her drink lots of fluids. Water, of course, but anything clear is good…"  
  
"Sam." Charlie tried to interrupt.  
  
"Gatorade, broth…"  
  
"Sam." Charlie tried again, a bit more forcefully.  
  
"Popsicles are good if she's running a fever…"  
  
"Sam!" Charlie's voice was so sharp and full of frustration that it stunned him as much as it did the other two men. Charlie hardly ever raised his voice, and he cursed himself silently for letting it happen. He could almost feel the exhaustion and worry of the day crashing in on him. He cringed when he saw the hurt look on Sam's face and steeled himself, continuing in a calmer tone. "She's fine, really. But thanks, you know, for the advice." He wondered if his lame attempt at a reassuring grin came across as desperate as it felt.  
  
Sam smiled back, willing to accept that he'd overstepped useful into annoying. Even though he appeared to let it go, Sam silently cataloged the edge of desperation that infused the younger man for examination later.  
  
They walked the rest of the way to the Oval Office in an uncomfortable silence. Charlie left the other men in the outer office while he ducked into the Oval.  
  
"So," Josh broke the silence. "Why's Terry holding up the RDA? There's nothing in the language about Hatch/Waxman."  
  
"See, and here's why I love politics, it doesn't have anything to do with the RDA. Terry is just using it as leverage to force NORD into *not* opposing the extended patent life."  
  
"Which NORD will never go for?"  
  
"Which NORD will never go for, and why Linda is now livid with me." Sam sighed, wondering exactly how again he'd gotten into the middle of this.  
  
"He's on a call, it'll be a few minutes." Charlie exited the Oval Office where he'd caught most of the conversation through the cracked door. "Were you, I'm sorry, we're you just talking about H.R. 1379."  
  
"Yeah, you know about it?"  
  
"For my class…we each chose a bill currently in Congress to research."  
  
"So what do you think?" Sam leaned against Charlie's desk, perching himself on the edge.  
  
"I'm really not the guy to ask."  
  
"Come on Charlie, you're smart, you've been looking into this."  
  
"Only for a week or two," Charlie offered weakly, not wanting to get pulled into this argument.  
  
"Well you may have to choose something else here pretty soon." Josh added, moving to sit next to Sam on the desk.  
  
"What do you mean?" Charlie asked, confused. The last he'd heard the RDA was going to sail through Congress.  
  
"The RDA is just about to get killed in committee," Josh shrugged.  
  
"There's got to be a way to salvage it though, right, I mean we can't just let it die."  
  
"There's an offer out there. But it would be sacrificing the interests of 250 million people in favor of a bill that benefits less than 10 percent of the population," Sam explained.  
  
"But they're only asking for 50 million." Charlie remembered reading that statistic more than once because it had struck him as rather low.  
  
"50 million and an official department in the NIH," Josh confirmed.  
  
"Yeah but Terry's going to make all that conditional on a longer patent life for drugs," Sam sighed, pushing off the desk in order to pace. "Which will increase the amount the average patient will have to spend on already overpriced medications."  
  
"So you're telling me that you're going to let a bill that could possibly help save lives die because you don't want to risk people associating an increased co-pay with this White House?"  
  
"The joys of an election year," Josh said flippantly, missing the obvious anger painting Charlie's features.  
  
"That's bunk." Charlie took in their startled expressions and continued. "That's really just…that 'less than 10 percent of the population' is 25 million people. The bill isn't about the money or a change in title it's about saving lives, it's about finding cures and treatments for more than 6,000 diseases. And you're treating it like a throw-away because it's an election year?!"  
  
"Charlie?"  
  
"They're asking for 50 million dollars, that's only two dollars per person affected. I say give them the key to the bank. This is the White House, man, why don't we just take the bill and shove it down the committee's throat."  
  
For a moment the only sound in the small office was Charlie's ragged breath. They all turned abruptly as the door to the Oval opened.  
  
"Josh," the President invited. "Come on in."  
  
"Yeah…I…" Josh looked sideways at Sam; neither man knew what had just happened. "I'll catch up with you later." Josh shuffled, still distracted, to follow the President.  
  
Sam listened to the door closing and tried to reconcile the mild-mannered Charlie he knew with the one who'd basically just yelled at him and stood now, still panting slightly.  
  
"Sam, I…I'm sorry." Charlie's voice wavered with emotion, as his eyes avoided Sam's. Instead he focused on his desk.  
  
Sam followed his eyes and realized that Charlie was staring at a small family portrait. Suddenly something became clear and Sam wanted to kick himself for being so obtuse.  
  
"Charlie?" He asked softly. He only continued when Charlie met his eyes, "What's wrong with Deena?"  
  
-----  
  
Charlie tossed the keys on the small table and threw his bag down. The small apartment was dark but he didn't bother with the lights. Instead he began to pull off clothes like a snake sheds its skin. The trail of clothes strewn behind him would be comical if his sister had been there to laugh, but to him it seemed nothing but pitiful. By the time he reached the bathroom he was clothed only in boxers.  
  
The water scalded his skin as he stepped in. He didn't reach for the soap or the shampoo; it wasn't that kind of shower. Years ago, before his father left, he learned to do this. He discovered, one night, that with the water running no one outside the tiny room could hear the muffled sobs. As a bonus the tears were lost in the rivulets of water running down his body, out the drain, and he could almost deny they'd ever existed.  
  
He wasn't sure how it happened, how he'd ended up telling Sam everything. Something in him had broken and Sam had been there to witness it. He'd cursed himself the whole way home. But he was also relieved. To have someone else know, someone else to share the worry. He knew Sam would worry; he'd take it to heart as quickly as he did everything else and hold it there. He also knew that after she was done pouting, Deena would be glad it was Sam. And he didn't really fool himself; he knew when he'd talked to Sam that the whole Senior Staff might as well have been there too.  
  
Charlie often suspected that Josh looked at him like a younger brother; and, by proxy, Josh had also managed to adopt Deena into the family. And he saw it too, sometimes, in the others. The way CJ fussed over Deena when she came to the White House and the way Toby offered quiet, unsolicited advice. And Sam who'd lost to a girl, but never complained, and afterwards graced Deena with a large bear hug.  
  
He'd seen it almost from the start really. And just as quickly he'd moved to avoid it. Always quick to bow out of socializing, quick to reserve the larger part of himself, leaving only the little he could bear to lose on display. Sometimes he wasn't sure if it was more to protect him or them, because if there was one inevitability in his life, it was loss. First his father, although all things considered, he'd probably been done a favor never having really known the man. His mother, who'd been in the very wrong place at the wrong time because he'd asked her to. Then the President, who was shot because those ill-informed bigots didn't have good enough aim. And Josh, who broke and bled and broke again, because of him; yet never so much as looked at him with the scorn he'd deserved, at moments longed for. Sometimes he stood in the shower and fingered his chest imagining what Josh's scar must feel like, wondering how it would look on him. And Deena. He didn't know if she would be the next, he only knew with a grave certainty that he would outlive her, his younger sister.  
  
He doubled over suddenly, his stomach rebelling, like it always did, against the thought. Quickly stumbling out of the shower, his wet feet slick on the floor, he realized that somewhere in the apartment his cell phone was ringing. Wrapping a towel around his waist he glanced at the trail of clothes he'd left and groaned. Somewhere in there was his cell phone. Thankfully it was still ringing when he finally came across it.  
  
"Charlie Young," he answered, making his way back to the bedroom.  
  
"Charlie."  
  
His stomach clenched at the voice, and he had to put a hand out to steady himself as the person on the other end continued.  
  
"This is Dr. Richards. It's Deena."  
  
-----  
  
tbc  
  
2 


	3. Part 3

1 --Tuesday Morning--  
  
Deena woke up to the soft pressure squeezing her arm. Opening her eyes groggily she stared at the gray band around her bicep not comprehending why it was there. As the pressure slowly released and the numbers appeared on the monitor above her she realized that it was just a blood pressure cuff. She was in the clinic.  
  
Looking over, her lips turned up in a small smile as she saw Charlie next to her bed, looking very much like a rag doll. His lanky form stretched out between two chairs that had been turned to face one another while his long arms hung limply from his shoulders. He slouched into the one chair clearly lost in sleep. She wondered how long he'd been there. She couldn't find a clock in the room and the only clue the window offered was the darkness outside. Not that it mattered what time it was. She had specifically told him to go home last night. But then, she realized, the doctor had probably called him.  
  
Cringing slightly she remembered the pain from last night. She'd been out of breath most of the day, which in itself wasn't that unusual for a sickle cell crisis. But late in the evening, after she'd fallen asleep she'd woken up in intense pain. Each time she tried to inhale, it had felt as if someone was dropping a two-ton weight on her chest. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She remembered Dr. Richards' reassuring voice telling her it was okay, that he was going to give her something for the pain. After that she only remembered vague feelings and snippets of conversation.  
  
Could be Acute Chest Syndrome, Dr. Richards had said to the other doctor. Possibly pneumonia, he'd said.  
  
Deena wished now that she'd paid closer attention. She tried to rack her brain but the medication was drawing her back to sleep. Looking back over at her brother she suppressed another smile, watching as one of his hands rose lazily to rub at his face. Turning to his side in the chairs, Charlie let out a soft snore or snort, she couldn't be sure. Whatever the sound was it was funny enough to make her laugh.  
  
An action she immediately regretted. The laugh caused her to draw in a large breath, expanding her chest and suddenly the pain spread out like a fire raging in her lungs. Exhaling as much air as she could she tried desperately not to gasp it all back in. But her body made her breath again, filling her chest with pain.  
  
Charlie woke with a start, the chocked gasps invading his dreamless sleep, and nearly fell out of the makeshift bed. After a moment of disorientation he moved quickly to Deena's side, grasping her hand with one of his and reaching with the other for the call button.  
  
"Deena," he spoke quietly, trying to keep his voice calm. "Shhhhh…slow down." He tried to help by displaying the slow, shallow breaths that would help her to regain control.  
  
Charlie was thankful that Dr. Richards had prepared him for this. Last night he'd been in such a hurry just to get in and see Deena that he hadn't wanted to listen to the doctor. Now, though, looking at Deena's panicked face, he was glad that the doctor had insisted.  
  
He continued murmuring softly to his sister, stroking her hand and forehead, trying to sound reassuring. After what felt like an eternity Penny, the night nurse, came in, quickly assessing the situation.  
  
"Okay, hun, what's wrong?" Penny addressed Deena even as she concentrated on the monitor over the bed.  
  
"Can't……..catch……..my breath," Deena answered, gulping huge amounts of air between each word, cringing in pain each time.  
  
"All right, I'm going to move this up a little." Penny grabbed the remote to the bed and as moving the head portion up, lifting Deena into a sitting position. "See if that helps."  
  
Deena noticed an immediate change. She still couldn't quite catch her breath, but the overwhelming sense of suffocation dissipated with every passing second. And more importantly the pain with inhalation seemed to fade a little, down to a bearable level at least.  
  
"Better?" Penny asked, eyeing the readouts again.  
  
"Yeah." It was little more than a wheeze but hadn't been nearly as hard as her other words.  
  
"Good," Penny smiled at her as she moved to the door. "I'll be right back. I want you to watch Charlie while I'm gone." The nurse pointed to the young man and quickly slipped out.  
  
Deena nodded, turning her attention back to her brother. If she could have laughed, she would have. The sight of Charlie making little puffing breaths like a woman in labor was almost too much. But then again laughing at him is what had brought on the attack in the first place. Gently she reached out and swatted him.  
  
"Hey! What was that for?"  
  
"For starting…….this." She picked up her free hand and motioned to indicate her current state.  
  
"I was sleeping how could it be my fault?" Charlie kept his voice low and soft, but allowed some playful indignation to seep in.  
  
"You were…..snoring…..and drooling." The words were coming easier now, but still not smoothly. "You made…….me laugh."  
  
"I don't snore!" He said, his face melting into a smile of relief. If she was joking it couldn't be that bad.  
  
"Yes, you do." Penny had come back into the room, apparently intent on joining forces against him. "I could hear you all the way down the hall," she gently teased as she set her wares down on the tray next to the bed.  
  
"I'm outnumbered here aren't I?" Charlie asked in a pained voice.  
  
"Looks that way," Penny removed the non-rebreather mask from its plastic bag and connected it to the oxygen spigot on the wall. "Okay, Deena, I'm going to put this on you. It's going to help you breath, and I want you to try to take slower, deeper breaths for me okay. Don't overdo it, though."  
  
Deena nodded and tried to concentrate on her breathing but found herself afraid of the pain she might inadvertently trigger.  
  
Penny had also brought drugs back to the room with her, though, and was busy infusing the contents of the syringe into the IV line. "This should help with the pain, okay. It's important that you try to breath deep. This should kick-in in just a minute or two."  
  
Deena closed her eyes against the pain, quietly waiting for the relief she knew would come. As the medication circulated through her body she replayed past basketball games in her mind. She didn't have a memory for facts and figures, not the kind of recollection that would ever help her in school, but she never forgot games. Well-executed plays as well as bad, moments and mistakes that always seemed to stay with her. They were calming, these memories, something to focus on when she needed peace.  
  
Opening her eyes again she watched Penny slip out of the room before turning her attention to Charlie. She took in his drawn face, wondering how much sleep he'd actually gotten in the past days. He looked at her like her mother used to, with a mixture of fear and pity. Even then that look had always made it worse.  
  
Smiling in hopes of easing the tension, she tried to prove to Charlie she was okay. "Guess I'm lucky summer season……doesn't start for a couple…..of weeks, huh?" The pain in her chest was fading quickly, her breath coming more easily as she spoke.  
  
Her smile faded quickly, though, when Charlie turned away, closing his eyes against her.  
  
"Hey," she tried to make her voice soothing, but it just came out a little raspy and ragged. "It's not a big deal…..I'll be fine. Might miss the first……few games but then I'll be good…….as new."  
  
Charlie turned back to her, his eyes were red around the edges, looking more apologetic than they should. When he finally spoke, she had to strain to hear the words.  
  
"I don't think you should play anymore."  
  
Her stomach began to feel queasy as the sinking feeling took hold of her. They'd had multiple versions of this conversation before. Every time she had a crisis, in fact. Looking hard at him, though, she could tell this was different. He looked much more serious this time than he ever had before.  
  
Shaking her head, she grasped at a small hope. "You mean just for the summer……right." When he didn't answer she let the edge of panic touch her words. "Just for the summer?" she pleaded.  
  
"I don't…" Charlie trailed off, unable to look his sister in the eye. "Let's not talk about it right now, okay."  
  
Deena closed her eyes against everything the non-answer implied. Sensing the coming sting of tears she found herself too tired to even argue.  
  
-----  
  
Josh made his way through the lobby with his cup of coffee. It was still early so there weren't many people around. It had really only been six hours since he'd left the previous evening but he was good at surviving on power naps and caffeine when he had to. Besides even when he tried sleeping last night he couldn't. His thoughts kept going back to Charlie. The exchange before he'd gone into the Oval Office had been strange. And when he exited Charlie wasn't at his desk and neither was Sam in his office. He found himself hoping that whatever it was bothering Charlie, the two of them had talked about it.  
  
Dropping his backpack and coat in his office, he noted with a frown that Donna had beat him in. Sometimes that woman really was unnatural.  
  
"I need money." Her voice was close enough to startle him.  
  
"And good morning to you too."  
  
"Good morning, I need twenty dollars," she repeated. He'd come to expect this: for all her rambling at times Donna Moss certainly believed in jumping to the point.  
  
"What no raise this time?"  
  
"Well yes, that too. Right at the moment, though, I just need the cash," she held out her hand expectantly.  
  
"What for?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
"A surprise."  
  
"What kind of surprise?"  
  
"I'm not going to tell you."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"It will ruin the surprise."  
  
"Okay, see it's that kind of circular reasoning that makes you such a joy in the morning."  
  
"Josh…"  
  
"Tell me why I should give you my hard earned money."  
  
"Because without me none of that money earning work would get done," she smirked. "Plus…you love me."  
  
"Not nearly as much as you seem to think," he said, reluctantly pulling out his wallet and fishing out a twenty.  
  
When she reached out to grab the bill he held firmly onto the other end. "So this will buy me at least a morning's worth of peace, right?"  
  
"An hour's worth."  
  
"Two."  
  
"Done." With a smile that bordered on smug she took the now released bill and returned to her cubicle.  
  
After watching her for a moment he turned, grabbing the files he needed and headed in the direction of Leo's office. He was startled to see a light coming from Communications. Changing directions to investigate he was not really surprised to see it was Sam's office that was lit up.  
  
"Sam," he said, knocking lightly on the doorframe and taking note of the slouched form. Josh laughed a little at the sight of his friend spread out across his desk in sleep. Quietly, Josh moved across the room and touched Sam's shoulder shaking the man softly.  
  
"Sam."  
  
"mmmm…yeah," Sam murmured, waking slowly.  
  
"Sam, wake up."  
  
"Yeah, I'm up," Sam said, turning his head over, and closing his eyes again.  
  
Josh smiled and shook his friend more forcefully. "Sam. Up. Now."  
  
Sam pushed himself up, resting his elbows on the desk and rubbing at his eyes. "Just can't let a guy sleep, can you?'  
  
"Not when *I'm* wide awake, no."  
  
"Got anymore of that coffee?" Sam gestured to Josh's cup.  
  
"Come on," Josh nodded his head towards the bullpen indicating Sam should follow, "I'll fix you some."  
  
Sam groaned audibly as he pulled his body out of the chair. He'd forgotten how the second day was always worse on his overtaxed muscles and spending the night in his chair certainly hadn't helped. He reached down into his second drawer and withdrew the bottle of Advil. Dry swallowing four of the little pills he finally followed Josh out.  
  
"So," Josh busied himself with the coffee filter. "To what do you owe the sleepover?"  
  
Sam wasn't sure how much Josh knew or had figured out about the previous evening. He was sure his friend didn't know about Deena's illness. Charlie had told him that no one else knew. Sam wasn't really sure how much to say either. Charlie hadn't said to not tell, but Sam hadn't asked if he should. Either way he though the truth would be a good place to start since it didn't directly involve Charlie or Deena.  
  
"I was reading up on the RDA."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And nothing. It won't be the first time a good bill has gone under."  
  
Sam hated the way that sounded, hated it more that he agreed with it. The RDA, for all the good it might do, was a small bill with limited gains for the administration. If the President pushed for the bill without also supporting the changes Terry was after in patent lives they would likely lose his future support. And right now, with the Patient Bill of Rights close to passing the House, they couldn't afford to be making such powerful enemies in the Senate. On the other hand if they sided with the pharmaceutical companies and reopened Hatch/Waxman, not only would they effectively severe the administration's good ties with NORD but they were very likely to face an extended floor fight. Lengthening patent lives was not a popular option. Given the scenarios the best plan was clearly for the White House to step out of it all, let Terry and NORD settle this on their own.  
  
Josh nodded. It wasn't anything unusual, most bills died long before they reached a vote anyway. "They can always reintroduce it later," Josh offered. "Wait till they have more support."  
  
"Yeah. I know," Sam sighed. "Now I just have to tell Linda."  
  
"She's a lobbyist, she'll understand that we can't get involved in this one."  
  
"I'm not so sure. She's…" Sam trailed off mid thought, staring over Josh's shoulder across the bullpen. Standing at the lobby door, Charlie was motioning for Sam to join him.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You still with me here?" Josh waved his hand in front of his friend's face.  
  
"Yeah, I'm sorry," Sam apologized quickly. Gripping Josh's arm lightly, he moved past his friend towards the door Charlie had ducked through. "I'll be back in just a second."  
  
"Okay," Josh said, confused.  
  
Sam left the bullpen quickly, suddenly concerned. Charlie had looked agitated, like something had happened.  
  
"Sam."  
  
He turned abruptly at his name and found Charlie waiting for him just outside one of the conference rooms.  
  
Nodding his head toward the open room, Charlie indicated for Sam to join him.  
  
Sam followed Charlie into the room and waited while the other man closed the door behind them, noting the caution with which he checked the hall in doing so. He was confused by Charlie's manner.  
  
Finally turning his attention back to Sam, Charlie chanced a half-smile. Whether he was trying to put Sam or himself at ease he wasn't sure. He was still upset about his conversation with Deena. He really hadn't wanted to bring his decision up yet, didn't want to have the fight he knew would come with it. When it came to her health she would just have to learn to accept his judgment. He wasn't about to be responsible for losing her, too.  
  
"Charlie?" Sam asked quietly. "What's going on? Is Deena okay?"  
  
"She's fine," Charlie answered tersely. "Listen, you haven't told anyone have you?"  
  
"No." Sam answered flatly, a little put off by the young man's tone.  
  
"Good. Don't."  
  
"But last night…"  
  
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything to you."  
  
"No, that's not what I meant. I think you should tell them. You know we'll all help you anyway we can, right?"  
  
"I appreciate you concern. We both do," Charlie softened his tone a little. He really was thankful for Sam's obvious feelings for his family, but none of that changed the situation or his decision. "But please just drop it, okay?"  
  
"I think you're making a mistake."  
  
"Well, you certainly wouldn't be the first."  
  
"You don't have to do this alone."  
  
"We've gotten along fine this far. I can take care of my family," Charlie insisted, his voice conveying a confidence he didn't feel.  
  
"That's not the point," Sam said, clearly frustrated. Nothing he said seemed to be getting through to Charlie. "I'm saying that you don't need to do it alone."  
  
"Sam," Charlie fought to keep his voice level, touched by the sentiment but still angry with himself for letting the situation get out of control. "Please, just leave it alone. This crisis will pass and then it will all be back to normal. There's really no reason for anyone else to know."  
  
Not waiting for a response Charlie turned and left the room, leaving a stunned Sam in his wake.  
  
-----  
  
Sam sat a table near the back of the restaurant, staring solemnly down into his coffee cup. He really didn't want to be the one to do this. But Linda had come to him and now he had to tell her that they couldn't, or wouldn't, help.  
  
"Cystic fibrosis, Crohn's disease."  
  
He heard her voice before he saw her.  
  
"Epilepsy, hemophilia, lactose intolerance," Linda slid into the seat across from him and continued with her litany, "Lowe syndrome, muscular dystrophy, Parkinson's disease, sickle cell disease, Xeroderma Pigmentosum."  
  
"What was that?" Sam asked, returning her smile.  
  
"Just a few of the rare disorders the RDA will affect."  
  
"See I'm not sure that last one is real. I think maybe you just like to use big words to intimidate me."  
  
"It's a genetic disorder in which people don't have the mechanisms necessary to repair cell damage due to UV radiation," Linda said, her face suddenly very serious. "They can't go outside in the sun, ever."  
  
"Oh." Sam let the smile fade from his face, chagrined at his own flippant attitude.  
  
"Twenty five million people, that's almost one in ten," Linda continued.  
  
"I can do the math thanks." Sam's voice came out more biting than he'd meant. Cringing, he quickly turned away from Linda's hurt expression. He tried to signal the waitress, if for no other reason than to stall for a moment and regroup. They hadn't gotten off to the best start for a conversation that wasn't going to be pleasant to begin with.  
  
Linda, however, refused to give him the moment. Her frustration was evident in her voice when she continued. "So if you guys are worried about MS being the issue…"  
  
"We're not making it the issue."  
  
"Yes, Sam, you are."  
  
"We're really not. But even if we did…I can't believe…I can't believe I have to explain this to you."  
  
"Then I'll save you the trouble. You're worried that the President will be perceived as pushing this as a personal agenda and I'm saying that chances are everyone in America either has a rare disease or knows someone who does. I think maybe they'll be able to realize that this isn't for the benefit of one man or one disorder for that matter. Give them some credit."  
  
"It's not that simple. Even if the President didn't have MS it wouldn't be that simple." Sam felt his patience evaporating a little more each moment. "Listen, Terry's not going to let this go just because the President asks him to. They want something in return."  
  
"NORD is not going to back down on patent life, Sam," Linda shook her head. "We don't work that way. We're a not-for-profit; we work as the patient advocate. Extended patent lives are *not* in the best interest of patients."  
  
"Then I don't think that we can help you."  
  
"Have you even run this by the President yet? Has he said no?"  
  
"We try to keep things like this off his desk."  
  
"That's kind of a rotten policy."  
  
"Do you have any idea how many times we get approached on things like this?" Sam sighed.  
  
"But this is important," she said, her voice rising.  
  
"That's what they all say."  
  
"You're not listening to me Sam!"  
  
"I am. I really am…but this is not…this is a good bill. No one's arguing that. But it's limited and it's going to create more enemies than friends. And I can't help but wonder if you're too close to this to see that."  
  
"This is a good bill. We have to take small steps before we can take big leaps, and maybe you don't see *that* because you're not close enough!" Linda pointed an accusatory finger at him across the table.  
  
"I know Collin-"  
  
"This has nothing to do with Collin! And frankly, I would appreciate it if you didn't treat me like some poor waif whose husband's death defines her whole life."  
  
"I'm sorry," Sam ducked his head, blushing furiously. "That was out of line."  
  
"Yes, it was." Linda dug in her briefcase for a moment before dropping a large folder on the table between them. "So you want far reaching, right?"  
  
"It would certainly make taking this to the President easier," Sam agreed.  
  
"Pharmaceutical liability, shortened clinical trials, Medicaid coverage." Linda shuffled through the stack of papers in front of her, handing them each to Sam as she read them off. "Hatch/Waxman is just the tip of the iceberg. They're testing the water. If we compromise on that they're going to start going after these others full force. This isn't just about the RDA anymore, Sam. It's about patient rights and protection."  
  
Sam sat, scanning the papers as he listened to her. "These are all current bills," he mumbled, the connections coming together in his head. Suddenly animated, he grabbed a pen and began scribbling notes in the margin, only turning to Linda as an afterthought "Can I have these?"  
  
"I guess I could call it even if you treat me to lunch."  
  
"Deal." Sam smiled up at her briefly before returning to his notes.  
  
-----  
  
"Charlie!"  
  
Charlie turned reluctantly at his name, not particularly wanting to have another conversation with Sam. He felt awkward about leaving so abruptly after their first talk and he didn't want to deal with it again. But he couldn't just ignore Sam either.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Come in here for a second," Sam motioned to his office.  
  
"I'm really busy, I have to-"  
  
"Just for a second, promise."  
  
Charlie sighed, following Sam into the office. Before Sam could speak, though, Charlie sought to control the direction of the conversation.  
  
"I said my peace this morning. Please don't ask me to change my mind."  
  
"Well, I wasn't going to," Sam said, truthfully. Moving behind the desk he fixed Charlie with a look he hoped was a good approximation of parental concern. "I was just going to ask how Deena was. But since you brought it up…"  
  
"She's fine and it's not open for discussion."  
  
"I think you're making a mistake."  
  
"You already mentioned that."  
  
"Charlie-"  
  
"Look, she's going to be released this afternoon. It's not a big deal and I'd appreciate it if we could not talk about this."  
  
"Seriously, I-" Sam was cut off by the staccato trill of his phone, "Hang on." He motioned for Charlie to sit with one hand while bringing the phone to his ear with the other.  
  
"Seaborn. Yes, he's right here." Sam held out the receiver to Charlie across the desk, shaking his head when Charlie mouthed the question 'who?'  
  
Charlie grasped the phone tightly, holding it at arms length as though it might bite. Slowly bringing to his ear, he fought against a growing sense of dread.  
  
"Charles Young."  
  
-----  
  
Outside his office Josh could hear what he swore sounded like a gaggle of geese. Looking out he saw it was only a congregation of assistants. More to the point it was a gathering of Senior Assistants, all talking in hushed tones. Intrigued he slid quietly out of his office, trying to remain inconspicuous while getting in range to overhear the conversation. Moving to the filing cabinet at the edge of the bullpen he turned his back to the group, straining his ears to hear.  
  
"…balloons, hats, and I'll pick up the cake…" said a voice he immediately recognized as Donna's.  
  
"What time should we start?" Margaret asked.  
  
"Well, when I talked to Deena last week she said she'd have him here by six. So how about around four?"  
  
There was a murmured chorus of affirmatives, before Donna started again.  
  
"Okay, now…" her voice trailed off.  
  
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he realized that they were no longer talking. He was suddenly very sure that all five pairs of eyes were focused on his back. Picking up a random folder he turned slowly towards the women, trying his best to look engrossed in the file.  
  
"Josh?"  
  
He looked up to see five very amused assistants staring at him.  
  
"Can I help you with something?" Donna offered, not trying at all to hide her smirk.  
  
"No, I just needed to…uh…get this file," he said, waving the manila folder in front of him. He was suddenly very conscious of the heat rising in his cheeks. "I'll...uh...just be going back to my office…now."  
  
"Okay, you do that."  
  
Josh slunk back into his office, slumping into the chair. That didn't go nearly so well as he would have liked. Although he did pick up enough clues to determine a birthday party was in the works. Now he just wondered for whom.  
  
Several minutes later Donna came in, shaking her head and clucking in the exact same way his mother used to do to show her exasperation.  
  
"You know, Joshua, it's really not polite to spy."  
  
"I wasn't spying," he argued, his voice rising slightly.  
  
"Yes, you were," she accused. "You may as well have had a sign taped to your back: 'Josh Lyman: Secret Agent Man' for all the subtlety you displayed."  
  
"I was very subtle."  
  
"You were about as subtle as Ru Paul at a Promise Keepers convention."  
  
"It was the slinking, wasn't it?" he asked, giving up the defensive.  
  
"Mostly. Although hiding behind the coffeemaker may have had something to do with it," she pointed out.  
  
"See but if you would just tell me what's going on, we could avoid all this."  
  
"And you definitely proved you're to be trusted just now."  
  
"Come on it's not like you're planning world domination. We're talking about a birthday party here," Josh's voice wavered precariously close to a whine.  
  
"Yes. And I was going to tell you, you know, before your little _Mission: Impossible_ melodrama."  
  
"And now?"  
  
"Nope. You'll just have to wait," she answered, turning to head out of the office.  
  
"I hate you."  
  
"I'll get over it."  
  
-----  
  
They entered the hospital lobby at a near run, quickly heading for the information desk. As he watched Charlie try to find which room Deena was in, Sam marveled at how quickly the young man had switched gears. Here, he was all business, forceful and with purpose, not at all the same person he'd been with in the car.  
  
When the call had come Sam had watched as Charlie's face furrowed in concern and almost horror. Charlie hadn't needed to explain. And really, he hadn't even tried. He'd simply slumped down into the nearest chair, shock distorting his normally placid features.  
  
Sam had left Charlie slumped in the chair, quietly exiting to ask Ginger to cancel his afternoon appointments. He'd come back to the office and literally forced Charlie to stand and shrug into his coat. He only shook his head at Ginger's unasked question as he steered the young man out of the office and toward Sam's car.  
  
The ride to the hospital was almost painful as Charlie had literally curled up in the seat, not looking at Sam, let alone speaking to him. Stunned silence were the only words he could come up with to describe it. It felt too much like the last ride to GW he'd endured.  
  
Following Charlie to the elevator he wondered again at the sibling bond. He didn't understand it, being an only child, but he'd certainly witnessed it in cousins and friends. Sometimes he wondered if even those with brothers and sisters fully understood. It ran deeper, it seemed at times, than even the bond shared with parents. He'd often wondered if it had something to do with a common enemy.  
  
Exiting onto the floor closely behind Charlie, Sam thought again that he wasn't the right person for this job. He could offer support, but not the innate understanding that CJ or Toby, with their own sibling ties, could. Even Josh would be a better choice. Then, after considering it for a moment, he hoped that Josh wouldn't turn out to be the best choice after all.  
  
-----  
  
Charlie watched the last bag of blood shrink as it transferred its contents through the tubing and into Deena. He was thankful, at least, that he had missed them bleeding her. He and Sam had gotten there just as the nurse was clamping off the last full bag of Deena's own blood. It made sense to him, drawing the diseased cells out of her body and replacing them with healthy ones. The exchange transfusion would reduce the symptoms, but it still seemed almost ghoulish.  
  
Stroking the back of her hand softly, he watched her chest rise and fall with the mechanical timing of the respirator. When he was twelve, he had sat just like this, holding Deena's hand. He remembered it vividly. It was the worst crisis she'd had, not as bad as this, but still too much for her little body. His mom was on the night shift so his dad had rushed them to the hospital, frantic and angry.  
  
Charlie had wandered around the hospital, lost until a volunteer had found him and led him upstairs. The machines, with their lights and sounds, had frightened him but he went to her side anyway. He remembers that she was crying softly in her sleep, and even then he had the paternal urge to wipe the moisture from her cheeks.  
  
More than all that, though, he remembers the screaming. Even through the door he had been able to hear his parents yelling, his mother's voice more insistent, pleading. And his father, not even really screaming, but talking in a low voice. He never remembers the words but he can still see them through the window, a nurse approaching to break them up, his father turning to look at him for just a moment before leaving. His mother's slumped, shaking shoulders were enough to tell Charlie that his dad wouldn't be coming back.  
  
In a haze of hurt and confusion he had latched onto the only thing that made any sense. He remembers looking down at the small form laid before him and deciding that it must be her fault. All of it, the constant fighting, his mom working extra shifts and, now, his dad walking out were because of her. He hated her for it.  
  
Hated her for years after that. Even when she had no idea what she'd done, he always knew. Even when his mom had finally figured it out, trying to scold and comfort him at the same time, he still held it close, like a shield. Because if it was her fault, it couldn't be his.  
  
He realized eventually that it was irrational. That their father leaving had much more to do with the man himself than it did with his children. Despite this realization, though, there were still times, some much more than others, when he still blamed her. Like on his sixteenth birthday when not even a card came. When, at his graduation, he had looked out over the crowd with irrational hope. The days after his mom died and he had to make funeral arrangements. And, most recently, when he'd gotten the job at the White House and there had just been the two of them to celebrate. At those moments he felt all of twelve again, hating his sister for being sick and needy and inconvenient.  
  
Shaking off the unpleasant feeling of déjà vu, Charlie looked down at their clasped hands and wondered if maybe she had any blame him to place on him. Not for their father, maybe, but certainly for their mom. It was Charlie, after all, that had asked her to change shifts. He couldn't fault Deena if she did. It made it all easier to deal with sometimes, if the blame could be placed firmly at someone else's feet.  
  
Charlie turned his head slightly at a sound near the door, and watched as Sam slowly pulled the room's curtain closed behind him.  
  
"Was that?" Charlie asked about the phone call, too tired to even complete the thought.  
  
"Yeah," Sam answered, his voice low.  
  
"What did you tell them?"  
  
"That we're at your apartment. That you just wanted to check on her."  
  
Charlie nodded, sighing in what might have been relief but was probably closer to exhaustion. Behind him he could hear Sam fidget, slowly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, playing with the keys in his pocket. When he spoke he was closer than Charlie had originally thought.  
  
"I've got to go back." It came out like both an apology and a question. Like Sam was asking his permission to leave.  
  
"Okay." Charlie closed his eyes, continuing softly, "Thanks for…"  
  
"Yeah." Sam rested his hand lightly on Charlie's shoulder before moving around him to the far side of the bed. Reaching down he hesitated at the mass of IV tubes and wires that surrounded Deena's arm. Cautiously he grasped just the tips of her fingers gently in his hand, squeezing lightly. Looking down at her, Sam had a hard time reconciling the image with the vibrant girl who'd beaten him so thoroughly just two nights ago. Looking up he met Charlie's eyes staring back at him.  
  
"You know they're going to ask when you don't come back?" It was more of a statement than a question.  
  
"I know," Charlie rubbed at his eyes.  
  
"Charlie," Sam paused waiting for the young man to look at him again. "If this is how you want it…I don't understand…but I'll tell them whatever you want."  
  
Charlie sighed, looking again at his sister. He resigned himself to the fact that maybe he couldn't do this alone, not this time. Perhaps it was time to stop blaming. Maybe he needed his friend's in a way that scared him just a little too much. But they were cut from different cloth than his father, he had to believe that they wouldn't leave given the truth. Squeezing Deena's hand and silently apologizing he turned to Sam. "Tell them. Tell them everything."  
  
-----  
  
tbc 


	4. Part 4

-----  
  
Sam hazarded a look across the desk at Leo, wondering what exactly the other man was thinking. 'Holy Hell' had been the only thing he'd muttered in the past minute. Sam had expected cursing and some admonishment. He found the silence all the more disturbing by the fact that neither of those had come to pass.  
  
When Leo did speak he was soft and to the point, "How is she?"  
  
"They don't know right now."  
  
"And he's still at the hospital?" Leo asked.  
  
Sam nodded, "I was going to go back over there later."  
  
"Okay," moving to the door for Margaret's office, Leo flung the door open and began yelling before he registered that his assistant was standing right in front of him. "Margaret-!!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"How do you do that?"  
  
"I've developed a sixth sense for these things."  
  
"Well work on it, see if we can get it so I don't even have to talk at all."  
  
"What did you need?"  
  
"Find CJ, Toby and Josh for me, would you."  
  
"Now?"  
  
"Yes, now would be good."  
  
He watched Margaret hurry out of the office then turned to Sam. "You stay here. I need to go tell him."  
  
Leo put on his suit jacket before crossing the office. Without so much as a look back at Sam, he strode into the Oval Office.  
  
"Good afternoon, Mr. President," he said, crossing to the armchair where Jed sat.  
  
"Leo!" Jed looked up from his reading, waving the folder at the other man. "Have you seen this?"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"It's some information Sam gave me on the Rare Diseases Act."  
  
"I'm sorry, Mr. President, he shouldn't have-"  
  
Jed waved the end of the comment away. "Of course he should've. This is the kind of legislation we *should* have a hand in."  
  
Leo opened his mouth to protest but again Jed cut him off. "And don't give me that crap about picking our battles and making enemies. What's the point of doing this if we can't fight the good ones? I want this done."  
  
"I'll have Sam look into it," Leo said to appease him.  
  
"I'm serious Leo."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Good, now what did you need?" Jed gestured for Leo to sit.  
  
"I have to talk to you about Deena."  
  
"Charlie's sister Deena?" Jed asked, confused. "He said she was just under the weather."  
  
"It's a little more serious than a cold."  
  
Jed removed his glasses, eyes suddenly intent, filled with concern. "What's wrong?"  
  
"She's in the hospital," Leo sighed with the weight of the disclosure.  
  
"What happened?" Jed tired to process the information.  
  
"She has a genetic condition, sickle cell, she had an attack or a crisis or whatever they call them Sunday night."  
  
"She's been in a hospital since Sunday?"  
  
"No, she was in a clinic that specializes in treating sickle cell patients. This afternoon she deteriorated and was moved to George Washington." Leo hated the way his voice sounded so clinical, so distant. He'd learned, though, that it was often the best way to get through times like these.  
  
"So he lied?" Jed asked softly, not wanting to believe that Charlie had kept something so big from him.  
  
"He didn't lie, no one ever thought to ask."  
  
"He should have told me." Jed couldn't stop his voice from rising with anger.  
  
"Maybe," Leo shrugged. "But he didn't."  
  
"I could have done something."  
  
"You realize how absurd this conversation sounds, don't you?" Leo's lips turned up just a little in the corners as he recalled a terribly similar conversation from a year ago.  
  
"This is not the same thing!" Jumping to his feet Jed began pacing, running his hand through his hair.  
  
"No, it's not," Leo acquiesced. "But it's his family and his decision."  
  
"Yeah. I'm not really buying that either."  
  
"I've got them waiting," Leo gestured with his head towards his office door. "I think we should-"  
  
"Okay," Jed cut him off curtly.  
  
Jed turned to look out the window, slowly clenching and unclenching his fists as they hung by his sides. He was hurt that Charlie didn't trust him enough to let him into that part of his life. As he listened to the staff file in though, his outrage slowly turned into more of a parental concern. Quietly he turned and took a seat behind his desk, watching his Senior Staff get seated.  
  
"Where's Toby?" Leo asked, looking at Sam.  
  
"Margaret said he was finishing a call he'll be right-"  
  
"I'm sorry, I got tied up with this thing," Toby apologized as he entered the room. Seeing the somber look on three of the faces, he quickly quieted.  
  
"-here," Sam finished.  
  
"So I take it you haven't told them yet?" Leo asked.  
  
"He hasn't told us anything, we've been sitting in there for the past five minutes trying to pry it out of him," CJ spoke up, playfully annoyed at having to wait.  
  
"Is it about the party?" Josh asked. "Cause I haven't been able to get anything out of Donna. The woman's like a…" he trailed off, suddenly noticing the pained look Sam was giving Leo.  
  
Leo stared hard at Sam, raising his eyebrows in question, until finally Sam took the hint.  
  
Not knowing exactly where to start, Sam just jumped right in, "Deena's in the hospital in the ICU right now. Charlie is with her. She has sickle cell disease."  
  
They all sat in silence until Toby found his voice, "I'm sorry…I don't…what is it?"  
  
"Sickle cell?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"It's a malformation of the red blood cells."  
  
"What kind of malformation?" Josh asked.  
  
"Normally the red blood cells are round and flat, like donuts without the hole," Sam explained, recalling the explanations Charlie had used. "So they slide by each other, making the blood flow smooth."  
  
He waited until he got nods from most of the room and then continued. "But when they sickle, they bend." Sam held out his hands and crooking the index fingers, locked them together. "They get caught on one another and stick. It creates this mass of cells that can block off the smallest veins. It causes a tremendous amount of pain. Sometimes it can lead to organ damage."  
  
"So, I'm sorry," CJ spoke up. "I'm confused, is this the same as sickle cell anemia?"  
  
"Yes and no. Deena has a form of sickle cell disease but not sickle cell anemia. She has what's known as hemoglobin SC disease."  
  
"What's the difference?"  
  
"Honestly? I'm not sure. As far as I can tell she doesn't get the extremely low blood iron of anemia, plus the sickle attacks are usually not as severe or as frequent."  
  
"So she has the good kind of sickle cell?" Josh offered.  
  
"Essentially, not that you can really call it that. It's kind of the lesser of two evils."  
  
"Like the difference between relapsing, remitting and secondary progressive?" The President asked, suddenly joining the conversation. He smiled mirthlessly at their stunned expressions. "Oh, come on. You all were thinking it," he chided, not unkindly.  
  
"Anything else?" Leo looked at Sam.  
  
"That's pretty much it in a nutshell."  
  
"Can I ask…" CJ interrupted quickly. "The assistants don't know, do they? We should tell them. They've got this whole party planned. And, well, because they should know."  
  
"The party's for Deena?" asked Josh, furrowing his brow in confusion.  
  
"No, you doof, it's for Charlie," CJ scolded, turning her body towards him on the couch.  
  
"I think it's fine to tell them," Sam offered, looking at Leo and the President.  
  
"But do it tomorrow," the President ordered. "I don't want him over run at the hospital tonight."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Good, now what's next?"  
  
"I think we're done," Leo offered.  
  
The four staffers took their cue and chorused a round of good nights as they filed out. Watching them leave Jed absently picked up the file on his desk. Looking down, he was quickly struck by an idea.  
  
"Sam, Josh," he called to the retreating staffers. "Hang on a minute would you. Talk to me about H.R. 1379."  
  
  
  
--Tuesday Evening--  
  
Josh walked past the ICU entrance, shivering slightly at the familiar sounds and smells. Almost two years and it still had this affect on him. Some days he was sure he'd never get over it. Most days, though, he took comfort in the fact that the smell of burning wood no longer sent his mind reeling. All it had taken was time.  
  
Stepping into the waiting room, he spotted Charlie almost immediately. The young man was reclined, his back to the door, watching what looked like CNN. Josh tried to shuffle his feet a little, not wanting to sneak up on him.  
  
"Hey, Josh," Charlie said, not bothering to look over his shoulder.  
  
"Hey. Mind if I join you?"  
  
Charlie gestured to the section of couch next to him. Flipping the channel to ESPN, he turned to Josh, puzzled. "Where's Sam?"  
  
"He was still doing a couple things when I left, then he was going over to your place. He should be around soon."  
  
Both men stared up at the TV, letting the silence fall between them.  
  
"Hey, you hungry?" Josh asked, suddenly uncomfortable.  
  
"Nah. CJ and Toby were by earlier, they brought food."  
  
"Good," Josh paused not wanting to pry, but needing to know how Deena was. "So...how is she?"  
  
Charlie didn't look away from the television, though his eyes weren't really focused on anything. "She's okay…better anyway. They started the transfusions early enough that there shouldn't be any lasting effects. They'll take her off the ventilator in the morning, see how it goes from there."  
  
Josh nodded, his throat feeling scratchy and raw just from the memory of what it had been like when he'd started breathing on his own again. Needing to fill the silence that suddenly felt oppressive he nodded to the TV set where the sportscasters were recapping the seeding for the women's NCAA championship. "You follow this?" he asked Charlie.  
  
"Yeah, a little," the young man shrugged.  
  
Josh thought it odd that Charlie would follow the women's tournament until the answer dawned on him. "Deena makes you watch, huh?"  
  
"Yeah," Charlie nodded his head, chuckling mostly to himself. He remembered just last week a discussion that he and Deena had had about men's vs. women's and college vs. professional. Mostly he remembered how Deena had wound up sitting on his chest, remote in hand, making him watch the North Carolina game.  
  
"She's good," Josh spoke up again. "And I'm not just saying that, you know, I mean not just because you're my friend," he stumbled over the ineloquent attempt at conversation. "Anyway, I'm just saying."  
  
Charlie, despite himself, flushed with pride. "She's great," he replied softly.  
  
He'd realized how good she was the first time he'd really watched her play, sometime after his mom died. Despite the illness, or maybe because of it, she always played a smart game, reserved but never afraid to go to extremes. She had an almost innate sense about the game. He could honestly say she was a natural. What's more, she loved basketball. He knew she did. Couldn't get enough. She was always staying late to practice or finding someone in the neighborhood to play a pick up game. Sometimes he was jealous. He was a passable basketball player himself, not great but definitely good. Mostly he was jealous of how easy she made it look.  
  
Basketball was a talent she'd definitely gotten from their mother. Sometimes, after her shift, his mom would take them over to the courts. She'd let them play for hours, trying to teach a little here and there. While he'd been busy trying to look cool, going for a style he was sure he couldn't learn from his mom, Deena had soaked it all up, every instruction taken to heart. In this way, and so many others, she was so like his mom. Sometimes he thought maybe that was why he loved her so much, why he was overly protective. Maybe that's why he couldn't risk losing her, even if it meant making her give up what she loved.  
  
He's not sure how it happened but he found himself trying to explain all this to Josh, and failing, miserably. "I guess it doesn't make a whole lot of sense, you know, if you don't have a brother or sister."  
  
Josh just stared at the young man for a minute, trying to come to a decision. He'd shied away from talking about Joanie because he didn't want to bring death into the equation; it was too close at hand as it was. Also, it wasn't something anyone but Sam and Leo knew about. He wasn't sure he was comfortable with anyone else knowing. Looking at Charlie's slumped form, the pleading in his eyes, though, Josh decided that maybe what Charlie needed most was to hear he wasn't alone.  
  
"For Joanie and me, it was music," Josh said softly, staring at the paneling to the left of the television screen. He didn't turn to look at Charlie, but he could feel the younger man's confusion. Sighing, he began again, "My mom, she taught piano. Nothing major, just, you know, neighborhood kids. She tried to teach us, too. I couldn't at all. I mean I can sight read and play the notes but I just don't have the knack to really *play*. But my sister, Joanie, took to it like breathing. God, she was great."  
  
"I didn't…I mean I didn't know you have a sister."  
  
"I don't. She died when we were still pretty young."  
  
"How?" Charlie asked, before he realized. "I'm sorry…it's none of my business."  
  
"There was a house fire," Josh shrugged. "She ran back in to get her notebook, the one she composed in. The smoke overwhelmed her, she never came out."  
  
Josh fell silent, almost forgetting where he was, that he was talking to someone. Charlie didn't know what to say. Didn't have words to describe his condolences for Josh's loss or his own fears for Deena. Several minutes passed before Josh seemed to be ready to talk again.  
  
"It's not the same thing, you know. I mean I was trying to make a point…I think." Josh sputtered, aware that he wasn't making a whole lot of sense. Taking a deep breath he tried again, "Sometimes I think that if she'd never learned to play piano or been so great at it, she wouldn't have died. Kind of a stupid thought, I know." Josh smirked, trying to relieve the tension a little before continuing. "I mean she wouldn't have been her without it. And if it wasn't the music it could have just as well been something else."  
  
"I'm not following…"  
  
"God, I'm really no good at this analogy thing…what I'm trying to say is: you can stop Deena from playing basketball if you want, but that doesn't mean you can control her health. You're acting as though you have to choose between her present and her future, right here and right now."  
  
Josh had turned to face Charlie, giving himself a clear view of the door as well. He saw Sam coming down the hall before he heard him. Glancing surreptitiously at Charlie, Josh held up his hand behind the young man so he couldn't see. Catching Sam's eyes moments before he stepped into the room, Josh silently asked him to stop. Sam obeyed, grasping the situation immediately and pulled himself to the wall, away from the doorframe.  
  
"It would be nice if it were that cut and dried, but it's not. Let me just say this, somewhere there's a middle ground, it's just going to take both of you to find it," Josh finished quietly, while motioning Sam to come in finally.  
  
"Hey, Charlie, Josh," Sam said as cheerfully as he could, feeling an overwhelming need to break the somber mood.  
  
Charlie sat silent for a moment, considering what Josh had just told him. He thought, maybe somewhere in the jumbled mess there was something that made sense; he was just too tired to find it at the moment. Shaking his head, as if clearing cobwebs, he acknowledged the other man, "Hey, Sam."  
  
Sam came around the front of the couch, setting the bag he carried in front of Charlie, "I think I got everything."  
  
"Thanks, I appreciate that," Charlie said, absently scrounging around in the bag.  
  
"So," Sam settled into one of the chairs. "How is she?"  
  
1  
  
2 --Wednesday Morning--  
  
"Sam!" Toby called as he passed his deputy's office.  
  
"What's up?" Grabbing his notes, Sam followed Toby into his office.  
  
"It's Wednesday."  
  
"Yeah," Sam answered, not making the connection.  
  
"Sam," the older man growled, rubbing his forehead in frustration.  
  
"The…Oh, the NIH speech."  
  
"Is it done?"  
  
"Yes. Although not really."  
  
"How not really?" Toby sighed, rubbing his forehead.  
  
"Mostly done. We just have to wait to see what happens in the Senate in the next couple days."  
  
"The RDA?"  
  
"Yeah. We're talking to Terry this morning." Sam glanced at his watch, silently cursing, "Actually we're talking to him right now, so…"  
  
"Yeah, go."  
  
Sam smiled at Toby and headed off toward the Roosevelt Room.  
  
Opening the door quietly he slipped into the room, and took a seat at the table already occupied by Josh and Senator Terry.  
  
"Sam," Terry acknowledged him cordially.  
  
"Senator. I'm sorry I'm late, have I missed anything?"  
  
Josh jumped in before Terry could answer. "Not much. I was just telling the Senator how The President would like the bill out of committee and up for the vote by Friday morning."  
  
"I can hold the bill in committee as long as I want, Josh," the Senator answered, shaking his head.  
  
"Yeah, but if you do you're still not going to get NORD or White House support, plus you're going to come out as the bad guy on this," Sam explained.  
  
"They love me in my district, I ran unopposed in the last three elections. You can't threaten me."  
  
"Oh, it's not really you we're after," Josh leaned forward, stretching a little across the table. "CJ Cregg will make sure every reporter in her press room gets a list of the CEO's and companies that were in on this. We'll raise an uproar like you've never seen. We'll set the Drug companies' agendas back by ten years. More than that, your guys won't have a friend left in this administration. The next time the Orphan Drug Act comes around with the shortened exclusivity clause the President will be there with bells on. So I think you guys should think long and hard about what this is worth to you. It's a good bill. It has nothing to do with you guys. Let it out of committee, let the Senate pass it and you guys keep the door open with us. Don't and …well that would just be stupid."  
  
"You're bluffing," Terry smirked.  
  
"I'm really not."  
  
"You're weak, you can't afford to make an enemy out of the pharmaceutical industry. You *need* me," Terry hedged, no longer sure of his footing.  
  
"If you believe that then go ahead and hold the RDA up," Josh shrugged. "But if you do that, we won't just come after the companies. You're up for reelection, too. It's true; we'd like to have the Patient's Bill of Rights by November. But we can wait until the next Congress, where your constituents will have replaced you with a young, talented Democrat of our choosing."  
  
"Okay, but even if I ship it out of committee today doesn't mean it's going to come to a vote anytime soon," Terry argued.  
  
"Actually, I had a chat with the Majority Leader last evening," Sam explained. "He's very fond of this bill for some reason. He assured me that it will go to a vote as soon as it's placed on General Orders."  
  
Sam watched as Terry began to grasp the situation and the precarious position that he was now in.  
  
"So, you see Senator, the ball is in your court."  
  
Terry sat watching the two men for several minutes, weighing their words. Finally he stood and offered his hand. "I'll take it to the majority leader tomorrow."  
  
"That's all we're asking, Senator," Sam smiled, gripping the hand firmly.  
  
  
  
2.1 --Friday Afternoon--  
  
Jed looked down at the package on his desk, thinking again how much he wished he could be at the party later. Perhaps it was for the best, though. It was hard to let loose, after all, with Secret Service Agents swarming everywhere.  
  
He called out for Charlie, waiting for the body man to appear.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Charlie, come here," Jed motioned to the desk. "Today's your birthday?"  
  
"Actually tomorrow is."  
  
"I thought it was today."  
  
"No sir. I'm pretty sure it's tomorrow."  
  
"Well, fine. Either way you're getting your present today." Jed pushed the package across the desk toward the young man.  
  
"Thank you sir, should I open it now?"  
  
"Yes. And don't thank me yet. Now, if you don't like it it's going to be important for you to remember it wasn't my idea. If, on the other hand, you love it…"  
  
"Whose idea was it?" Charlie asked, staring at the package.  
  
"Well it came as a bit of inspiration from my youngest daughter. You remember her don't you? About this tall, goes by the name Zoey."  
  
"Yes, sir," Charlie blushed, looking down trying to construct an explanation. "I've…we've-"  
  
"You know what? It's none of my business. You guys are smart, you'll work it out." Jed thought he could see Charlie sigh in relief and smiled to himself. "But now on to more important things…open it."  
  
Charlie gently fingered the gold mesh ribbon that wound around the cream colored wrapping paper. He could feel the President's eyes on him, almost like he was analyzing each move made. It was disconcerting to be on the receiving end of that gaze. So often he'd smirked when others squirmed under it, now that he was the one sweating though, he had a new appreciation for discomfort of it all. Sliding his hands under the flap of paper he removed the tape, careful to not tear the delicate paper.  
  
"Jesus Charlie, it's not a national treasure! It's a birthday present…rip into it!"  
  
Smiling, Charlie did just that; ripping the paper across the front, he laid bare the picture beneath it. Removing the rest of the paper he just stared at the gift. The parchment was dominated by the Oak tree visage, so large that it had been made to spill off the edges. The small pictures are what drew his attention though. Two small black and white photographs were tucked into the bottom corner of the frame, not even behind the glass. Both appeared to be taken at a formal event, inauguration, he guessed. One showed the first family in all their finery, the other showed the Senior Staff and assistants, sans ties and jackets.  
  
"It's important for a man to know who his family is. The one he's given and the one he chooses."  
  
Charlie opened his mouth to reply but no words would come. Closing it against the sob that threatened, he stared down at the parchment. With a shaking finger he traced the names of each generation while looking into faces he saw everyday.  
  
"Go home Charlie," the President's voice was so soft it took a moment for it to register.  
  
"I…uh…" Charlie stopped to clear his throat, still unsure of his voice. "You have the speech tonight."  
  
"I know. It's not a big thing. Besides Leo and Toby will be there." Jed motioned to the door. "So go. Pick up your sister and take her home."  
  
"Yes, sir." Charlie gripped the edges of the frame hard enough to turn his knuckles white as he turned to leave.  
  
"And Charlie? Happy Birthday."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. President."  
  
-----  
  
"Did you talk to Dr. Richards?" Deena asked, her voice a little edgy with anticipation. Thankfully there was no sign of the dry, raspy quality it from just a couple days ago.  
  
After they'd taken her off the ventilator she had recovered quickly. Even the doctors were a little surprised at her progress. Initially they'd wanted to keep her over the weekend, but Deena had been so insistent and just so *healthy* that Dr. Richards agreed to let her go home early.  
  
"Yeah," he said softly, trying to avoid eye contact.  
  
"Well, I take it that's a no then," her face fell at the realization.  
  
"Dee, I'm sorry," he offered. Sitting down next to her on the bed he draped an arm around her shoulder. "He said that you're not a good candidate for hydroxyurea."  
  
"Why?" her voice was too close to tears for him to bear.  
  
"Because of your age, for one. Because it hasn't been shown to be effective in SC patients."  
  
"But there's not anything else," she pleaded.  
  
"I know."  
  
"Do I…are you going to let me play anymore?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Really?" Deena raised her head enough to look her brother in the face, absently wiping an errant tear off her cheek. It surprised him, how young she looked. Sometimes it was easy to forget that she really was still just a kid.  
  
"You have to be more careful, and we have to set up some ground rules, but you can still play."  
  
"Cool," she said, nonchalantly, trying to pretend it didn't matter so much. Charlie knew it did though, and was happy to be able to give her at least one thing to hold on to.  
  
"So you ready to blow this joint?"  
  
"Uh…Yeah!" Deena jumped off the bed, practically knocking Charlie over in the process.  
  
"Well let's go, we've got to swing by the White House. Sam still has my key."  
  
Picking up her small bag, Deena threaded her arm through the bend of Charlie's elbow and let him lead her to the car.  
  
-----  
  
Looking back he should have realized that a dark Communications' bullpen at six in the afternoon should have been a dead give away. But he'd missed it and was genuinely surprised when the room had erupted in light and color and screams of "surprise" and "happy birthday".  
  
Once the screaming had stopped, he'd been overrun by well wishers. Donna and Margaret came first, which was appropriate as he was pretty sure the party was mostly their doing. Donna threw her arms around him, whispering birthday wishes in his ear. Margaret just grasped his hand firmly, before pecking him on the cheek, then hurried off to find some tissue for her eyes.  
  
It went on like that for what seemed to be hours, until Charlie was literally exhausted from standing and smiling. Taking advantage of a lull, he slipped over to the refreshments table for a second helping of cake. Lifting his head sharply at the sound of Deena's voice, he found her across the room with Josh. The two of them stood in a corner throwing out words he couldn't hear and hand gestures he could only guess at. He couldn't quite tell if they were fervently agreeing or adamantly disagreeing. When he met Josh's eyes, taking in the smile on his friend's face he figured it probably didn't matter which it was, they seemed happy just to enjoy the company.  
  
Taking his cake with him, Charlie headed to Sam's office. He slipped in, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. If he remembered correctly, the President's speech was supposed to be televised. Grabbing the remote from Sam's desk he quickly flipped through the channels till he found coverage of the conference.  
  
Perching himself on the desk, he dug into the piece of cake. A couple minutes into the speech, he found himself staring intently at the screen, the cake all but forgotten beside him. Suddenly he couldn't pull himself away. He was so engrossed that he didn't even hear the door open.  
  
"Hey, we were wondering where you went," Sam chided, good-naturedly. When Charlie didn't respond, Sam pushed some files aside and planted himself on the desk, next to the young man. Sam was content just to watch with Charlie, he had been wondering how the speech was going as well.  
  
"He's talking about the RDA," Charlie said suddenly, pointing to the screen. "I thought it was stuck."  
  
"It got unstuck," Sam shrugged.  
  
"It passed?"  
  
"Overwhelmingly."  
  
"That's…how?"  
  
"Funnily enough, we took a good piece of advice and pretty much shoved it down the committee's throat."  
  
Charlie smiled broadly, pleased to think that he had something to do with it in some small way. Fifty million wasn't a lot maybe, in the grand scheme of pharmaceuticals, but it could be the windfall researchers needed. It would pay for initial research and clinical trials and that meant more chances that drugs would be developed, treatments instituted, cures found. Maybe someday, he hoped, older brothers wouldn't have to outlive their younger sisters.  
  
He didn't notice exactly when the tears began to form, but as he looked across the room at Deena, surrounded by the Senior Assistants, the scene became blurry.  
  
Following the young man's gaze across the room, Sam laid his hand lightly on Charlie's shoulder. Squeezing, he spoke softly, "Happy birthday Charlie."  
  
--END-- 


End file.
